Kitchen Stories
by Predators and Prey
Summary: One story idea, ten authors and their interpretation of that idea, ten styles, ten stories you have to guess who. A challenge born of vangoghgurrl and made in Twitterland!
1. Introduction

**Predators And Prey Proudly Present **_**'Kitchen Stories'**_

_**1 story idea, ten authors, ten different styles?**_

OK, so here's the deal. For those of you that may follow the crazy FFN related, (and mostly not so), conversations on Twitter look away now..you already know about this thing.

For the rest of you, what happened was this. vangoghgurrl decided that she could identify Skins Naomily writers just from their styles; she reckoned that she had read enough of everyone's stuff that it would be a challenge that she would do well at.

The premise was, that if a set of authors all wrote about Naomi and Emily in a Kitchen cooking dinner; vangoghgurrl would attempt to match the writer to the story. WarriorMari volunteered to collate stuff, the rest of us were press-ganged into it by the Generalissimo, and so now you all get to play along too.

The challenge is, do you know who wrote what?

Vangoghgurrl got all ten, on her third attempt; without the benefit of knowing who, (out of the hundreds of writers in Skins-Land here on FFN), was involved.

That's right, she had _**no**_ clue who was involved, so it wasn't as if it was just matching the story to a name!

Oh, and _that's_ the game _you're_ going to play, if you're brave enough! Below is a list of the ten writers involved, see if you can match their name to their story. Post it in the review section if you're brave enough; see if you can beat, or equal vangoghgurrl - We honestly doubt you can, but we'd love to see your guesses.

**_The Authors (definitely in no particular order!)_**

LadyHawk1709

lizardwriter

whyyesitscar

FitchSwitch

Lazyboo

Hyperfitched

esdiferente

ImagineAlex

darthcaiter

mickeydubs

So there you go; one story idea, ten authors and their interpretation of that idea, ten styles, ten stories you have to guess who...nothing could be simpler could it? Hope you all have fun with this, someone will post the answers next week, if we remember (-:

Enjoy

The Predators and Prey Team


	2. Author 1

**1. Best Laid Plans**

"Emily, for fuck's sake stop doing that with the carrots," I cried in exasperation.

"Doing what?" came the innocent reply.

As if I really believed that anything truly innocent could come out of that mouth by now. That gorgeous, filthy, uncompromisingly kissable mouth that I could just… Fuck's sake, Naomi, focus. If someone doesn't take charge of this situation, we're all going to starve to death.

"You're supposed to be chopping them, not eating them," I huffed. 'And you're certainly not supposed to be eating them like that."

All pretence of innocence fell instantly from Emily's face, and I had to look away, I just had to. Even after all this time, she could still turn me from a normal, well-adjusted young woman to a wide-eyed, frothing-at-the-mouth lust bucket in a heartbeat. I didn't dare turn round, I knew what she would be doing. Every time I even tried to deny her, she took it as a personal challenge to see if she could break me. And she could always break me. For Emily Fitch was born with the gift of making even the most mundane of domestic tasks look like the sexiest fucking thing you had ever seen. Hoovering, hanging out the washing, even sorting fucking socks had all led to my downfall in the past, and don't even get me started on what she could do with food.

But not today. This meal was important. I don't know what had possessed me to invite them all round for New Year's Eve. I was drunk when I suggested it, that was what, but now it was done I wanted it to go well. A proper fucking grown up dinner party, not getting mashed up at some party like I normally did. It was Emily that got me to thinking about it, telling me some story of one time that she had been in Berlin and had been at a dinner party, and how cool and elegant it was. So my drunken brain had shouted 'do it for her', and I spilled the idea. Pretty much everything I do, I do for her these days and this was no exception. And when I do things for her, I want to do them well. So I had it all planned in my head, researched all the recipes, bought all the fancy ingredients. I was going to make everything from scratch, you know? Make my own choux pastry, grind my own spices, roast my own hazelnuts for the dessert, that kind of thing. Just so that everything would be beautifully home made, so that everything would be perfect. Being me, I had made lists, worked out how long everything was going to take, knew exactly what I was going to do and when I was going to do it. But I had failed to take one thing into account – the instrument of chaos that is Emily Fitch and her damned erotic carrot consumption.

"What's up, Babe? You seem a little tense," she said, deliberately putting an extra husk into her voice. Even the fact that I knew what she was doing, didn't make the blindest bit of difference to the effect it had on me. She came up behind me, and started massaging my neck, and I had to grip onto the edge of the counter for support.

"I need you to finish the carrots, Ems," I said, through gritted teeth "They're the next thing on the schedule."

Emily let out a throaty laugh, which did nothing for my will to resist.

"Only you would have a schedule for fucking carrots," she giggled. "It's just dinner, Naoms. It's not that big of a deal."

"Not that big of a deal?" I scoffed, turning to face her. "The whole family is coming, your Mum and Dad, Katie and Effy, Gina and Kieran, Anthea, James and… whoever it is this week.."

"Briony," laughed Emily. "Her name is Briony."

"I can't keep up with them all," I sighed. "He's worse than you…"

"Nevah!" declared Emily. "He is but a pale imitation of the Mighty Red."

"Don't remind me," I pouted. It wasn't always pleasant to be reminded that the girl I loved had been such a player. Emily picked up on my disquiet and brought a hand up to stroke my cheek.

"Hey, someone has to keep the Fitch flag flying now that I've retired into domestic bliss," she said softly.

Before I even realised it, I had slipped my arms around her waist. Damn, she was good. Frightening me and flattering me within a couple of sentences, so that I would go running to her out of sheer gratitude that she was still mine.

"I don't know how he manages to get all those women anyway, the disgusting little pervert," I frowned.

"Must be Fitch charm," she smiled, letting loose a flash of her devilish eyes, and pushing her hips imperceptibly closer into me. Fucking Fitch charm indeed. Well, I'm not fucking falling for it.

"Carrots Missy," I said, pushing her away. "Chopping, now."

I'm so fucking weak. I only managed to go about my own tasks for about a minute, before my attention was drawn back to her again. Emily loves knives. She has her own set of super sharp and shiny kitchen knives that she won't let me touch, and she chops stuff like a pro chef, fast and incredibly accurate. And I can't help it, it makes me horny. I know it makes me a cliché, but a woman with a weapon is hot, hot, hot. Even if she is only using it on vegetables. I found myself staring helplessly, and I knew from the hint of a smirk on her face, that she knew she had me.

"What is it about you Fitches?" I sighed in exasperation.

"What about us?" grinned Emily.

"How come all of you have this tremendous power over women?" I asked. "It's kind of weird and sinister."

"We don't have power over women," countered Emily, slicing and dicing a courgette in a way that made me melt from the inside out.

"Oh really?" I countered, raising my eyebrows at her. "Firstly there's pervy James and his harem of bitches…"

"I think they admire his forthrightness," replied Emily. "Plus they can borrow his dresses…"

"Your Dad has managed to bring out the sweet side of the most fearsome woman alive."

"I'll give you that one."

"And the there's the terrible twins. You used to have your own harem of bitches as I recall…"

"But then I met you, honey, and everything changed."

"Yeah and what about that, you managed to make Naomi 'flees in terror at the slightest hint of commitment' Campbell stop running for the first time in her life. And Katie made Effy 'emotion is a cancer which must be expunged' Stonem fall in love with her without even trying."

"Ok then, Jenna? Jenna doesn't have power over women…"

"Oh but she does," I said, shaking my head with foreboding. "She has the power to terrify us to within an inch of our lives. She still scares the shit out of me. Effy has seen devils that can lay waste to entire populations, and even she feels uncomfortable around her."

"Is that why you're stressing about the dinner?" asked Emily, setting down her knife and stalking back over towards me. "What can I do to help you relax…?"

"Seducing me is not going to help me relax, Ems?"

"Really," she said incredulously. "It usually helps you relax quite a lot."

"Well yeah," I admitted grudgingly. "But not today, yeah. I still have to make the red onion glaze, and we're already running behind on the schedule for the oven and oh Jesus Fucking H Christ…."

Her hand had found it's way underneath my skirt and was snaking its way up my thigh.

"Oh God, Ems.." I whimpered. "Please…"

"Please don't, or please don't stop?" came the husky voice whispered in my ear.

Truth was, in that moment, I didn't fucking know. My brain was still whirring with a list of preparations and plans, but my body had started screaming out for her touch.

"I don't want things to be ruined," I hissed breathlessly as her hand reached the surface of my knickers, knowing full well she would be able to feel my wetness through the fabric.

"They won't be, baby," she reassured me. "We can just delay things. Let's face it, Katie, Dad and James will devour anything that isn't cooked by Mum. Effy will just smoke and probably want to skip straight to the after dinner coffee, and Anthea will be perfectly happy as long as there's wine. Gina loves you and will love anything that you do, and if Gina's happy then Kieran's happy. Briony doesn't much matter cause James will have a new girlfriend next week."

"Which just leaves Jenna.."

"And Jenna deserves no sympathy for crimes against cuisine."

I gain a small respite from Emily's onslaught as she relaxes into genuine laughter. God, I fucking love it when she laughs.

"Do you remember Gina's face the first time she tasted Mum's cooking?" she spluttered out between giggles.

"I thought she was going to arrange a protest march against cruelty to vegetables and pulses," I snickered, wrapping my arms lazily around Emily's shoulders and letting my face fall into her sweet smelling hair. We stayed like that for several moments until the hiss of a pan of water boiling over tore me back to reality. I ripped myself reluctantly from her grasp and went to the cooker to take it off the heat.

"Right then, what's next?" I said, looking up at the cupboard door where I had taped one of my numerous lists.

"I want you."

It wasn't what she said that snapped my resolve. It was the way she said it. It wasn't dressed up in her usual seductive tones. It wasn't said with any idea of gain, and for once she wasn't wielding her fearsome Fitch power. It was just naked emotion. It was just a raw statement of truth. And despite the sexual intent behind it, it was… innocent.

The ladle fell from my hands to the floor, as I turned and slammed her back into the fridge, my mouth snatching at hers in desperate ravenous kisses.

"I can't stand it, I can't," I muttered, as I pushed my lips hungrily against hers.

"It's ok, it's ok," she whispered, kissing me back with equal fervour.

"What the fuck am I doing?" I said, as I launched myself at her neck. "We don't have time to go upstairs."

"Who said anything about going upstairs?" growled Emily.

Her moment of vulnerability had passed, and she was back in full seductress mode. She pushed me back against the table and wrenched my knickers from my body. My cunt was fucking pounding for her as she ran her skilful fingers over my clit, and I knew I wanted it every bit as much as she did. I was smiling as she entered me, and she felt so fucking good all thoughts of dinner and the night ahead were blown completely out of my skull. Against the instrument of chaos that was Emily Fitch the best laid plans of mice and Naomi Campbell were as meaningless as suncream in a supernova. And I fucking loved her for it.


	3. Author 2

**2. The Recipe for a Perfect Evening**

**I. Step 1: Finely chop onions.**

She looks up to see her watching her, eyes trained on her fingers as they expertly handle the knife. (She's been cooking since she was seven just to get something halfway decent to eat.) She can't help but grin cheekily.

"Perv," she accuses playfully.

Blue eyes flash up to meet hers and she shivers automatically at the apparent lust in them.

"I am not!" comes the indignant reply, belied by the way that Naomi's tongue runs hungrily across her lips a moment later. "I was just admiring your technique."

"Liar. You were just thinking about what these fingers were doing earlier," Emily shoots back, wiggling them suggestively.

"Right, well can you blame me? I admired that technique, too," Naomi says, stepping towards her and capturing the hand that's teasing her. She kisses the fingertips one at a time, and Emily can only close her eyes and _feel._

"We're supposed to be cooking dinner," Emily points out when Naomi murmurs against the crook of Emily's elbow.

"I'm hungry," Emily tries again, her resolve quickly dissolving as Naomi places small kisses along her shoulder, pushing the thin strap of her camisole top off to the side.

Naomi stops and looks her in the eye, her own eyes dark, pupils dilated. "Me too," she says in a husky voice, a mischievous grin spreading across her face.

Naomi's hungry lips capture her own a moment later and Emily just remembers to drop the knife in her hand before wrapping her arms around Naomi's neck and pushing up onto her tiptoes into the kiss.

_Dinner can wait,_ she decides.

.

.

**II. Step 5: Simmer sauce, stirring frequently**.

They burn the sauce. It's not entirely her fault, though.

For starters, Emily is far too distracting, licking her fingers after tasting the whipped cream she'd made to go on the brownies they're going to make for dessert. (Everything is better with whipped cream, after all.)

Really, how can Naomi be expected not to pounce on her and pull her into a deep kiss when she does things like that?

Emily sighs, examining the dark brown gloop at the bottom of the pan sadly. "We're really going to have to get you some cooking lessons," she says.

"I thought you were teaching me," Naomi retorts with a smirk.

"You are apparently far too easily distracted by my extreme beauty and inherent sexiness to actually learn anything," Emily says, sticking out her tongue.

Naomi snorts in response, even though Emily's really not far off from the truth.

"I gave you the easiest task, Naomi. No knives, so you weren't in danger of cutting yourself. No ingredient adding, so you couldn't mess up the measurements. All you had to do was stand there and stir until it'd simmered down a little bit and _not burn it_!"

Naomi examined her nails sheepishly, suddenly finding them incredibly fascinating.

"I'll have to get Katie to teach you. At least she won't distract you too much," Emily sighs.

"You wouldn't!" Naomi brings her head up at the threat to stare at Emily with pleading eyes. "You'd really leave me alone with your sister with lots of sharp knives around?"

"Hmm. Good point. I'll have to supervise," Emily says, moving her lips from side to side as if contemplating the idea. "That might be fun, actually. I'd get to watch you work for once."

"Oi!" Naomi mutters, poking Emily in the ribs until the cheeky smile on her face is replaced by laughter from both of them.

Emily kisses her softly, tenderly on the lips, then leans their foreheads together. "Do you think you could manage to whisk four eggs without destroying anything?"

"Will you break the eggs for me?" Naomi requests, putting on her best puppy dog face.

"Really?" Emily asks, followed by an exaggerated sigh. "_Really?_"

"They're slimy and salmonella causing and I can never do it without getting shell in the food," Naomi replies, sticking out her lower lip in a pout. She knows she's irrationally paranoid about raw eggs, but she can't help it, and if Emily wants her, it means she takes her flaws, too.

Emily kisses her on the nose and goes back down to the flats of her feet. "You're lucky you're cute," she mutters with a smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

Naomi grins broadly in victory.

"But then I have to focus on trying to salvage what I can of this sauce," Emily adds.

"What would I do without you, Ems?" Naomi sighs contentedly.

"Starve," Emily teases with a wink.

_Cheeky,_ Naomi thinks. _I like that in a girl._

.

.

**III. Step 4 (of dessert): Bake at 180C/350F/Gas 4 for approximately 25 minutes, until the middle is so very slightly gooey.**

She feels warm arms wrap around her from behind and soft kisses flutter down her neck. "Naomi, if you distract me now, we will have no dessert. Remember what happened to the sauce?"

"It only took five minutes for the sauce to burn. We have _twenty-_five minutes until the brownies are done," Naomi argues.

"And I don't trust either of us not to get carried away. Besides, I'm really hungry and in..." Emily checks the clock on the wall, "another two minutes, dinner will be ready."

"Spoilsport," Naomi pouts, but Emily hears her stomach rumble a moment later.

She laughs lightly. "Because you're not hungry?"

Naomi lets her go with a sigh. "Okay. I _might_ be starving."

"Well, we've both had good workouts today," Emily points out with a smirk.

"Mmm," Naomi hums in agreement, cheeks flushing attractively. "That we did."

Emily checks the clock again. "Dinner time."

She doesn't rush to get the food to the table, despite her hunger. There's no need to rush these days. Nobody's about to run off. Nobody's about to get left behind.

It's the simple moments that one should enjoy the most, she's always thought, so that she does. It's days like these, where it's just her and Naomi, relaxed, simple days spent together, that are her favourites.

So she lets herself relax as she sets the lasagne on the table that Naomi had set with the good plates they'd gotten from Emily's mum and the 'classy' candlesticks that Katie had given them for Christmas the year before.

She eases into her seat as Naomi pours out the wine, and takes a minute just to appreciate being there with her in the moment.

"Bon appétit," Emily raises her glass to the love of her life once she's settled across the table from her.

Naomi smiles back at her and raises her glass as well. "Bon appétit," she echoes as their glasses clink together.

.

.

**IV. Final Step: Eat and enjoy.**


	4. Author 3

**3. A Campbell Family Dinner**

'EMILY?'

Honestly, I swear that girl can shout for England; I know she spent a lot of her formative years on protests with her mum, yelling and screaming and giving speeches through megaphones. I _know_ she's good at it, she doesn't have to try and prove it every single day.

'WHAT?' I shouted back, allowing just a hint of exasperation to creep into my yelled reply. Predictably, within seconds, her head appeared around the door of the dining room where I was busily tidying in preparation for dinner.

'Where are the cardamom pods? This stupid fucking recipe calls for cardamom pods and I don't even know if we have any. Where the fuck do you buy cardamom pods anyway. I mean they're not the sort of thing you get from Tesco's now are they? Stupid complicated pissy little recipe…'

I gave a soft sigh as she continued her rant about my choice for dessert; she's stressed, just a little. Though I don't really blame her, to be honest I'm a little stressed myself. This is our first dinner party, in our new home and we've invited the in-laws.

Both of them, or is it all four of them? Talk about pressure.

So in about three hours my Mum and Dad plus Gina and Kieran are going to descend on our shiny new house and sit at our very own dining table and eat our very own food; lovingly cooked by me and her.

It's scary, in fact it's _really_ fucking scary.

Honestly, it shouldn't be; it's not like we've _not_ had them round before. But all of the places we've lived in, in the past, have precluded this kind of get together. In fact we've never had the four of them round together at one of our homes before, not like this. But this is our place, we're mortgaged to the hilt but happy; and it's now our turn to show how grown up we are, and we want to do it right.

I folded my duster and placed it on the freshly polished table and turned to face a stressing Naomi Campbell, folding my arms meaningfully as I did so.

'Are you telling me we _don't_ have the one fucking thing we need to make dinner perfect? Fucks sake Naomi I _thought_ you did the shopping properly!'

I couldn't help but grin as she pouted, her lip sticking out in her usual impression of my own look. I know she knew I was joking, twelve years of being together had given us a link that was stronger than the one I had with Katie, and we'd shared a womb for fucks sake.

'It would be _your_ fault if we didn't have what we needed,' she told me waggling her finger at me. '_You_ did the shopping after all.'

'_We_ did the shopping Naomi,' I told her, huffing dramatically.

'_You_ did the shopping,' she reiterated forcefully. '_I_ just pushed the trolley round that stupid fucking store while you threw things into it. Then I drove home and_you _unpacked remember? So I don't know where anything is and you've abandoned me to do all the cooking alone.'

'Is that what this is about?' I asked, walking over to her and slipping my arms around her waist. Time had not ruined her figure, or her looks, she still looked to me like the girl I'd longed for and lusted after all those years ago.

'Are you just pissed off that I left you to do the cooking Naoms?'

'Actually hun, I'm pissed off because you're in here and I'm in there,' she said softly, running her fingers through my hair.

'Aw, that's so sweet, you missed me.' I joked, placing my head against her chest.

'Always,' she replied her lips pressing against my head and gently kissing me.

'Well then, I guess we should do something about that,' I told her pulling back and taking her hand. 'How much have you got done so far?'

'Er…I couldn't find the cardamom pods,' she said sheepishly, 'so I…'

'Jesus babes,' I interrupted suspecting what was coming. 'We need to get things on the go like now, they'll all be here soon. That cake won't bake itself either!'

Quickly I dragged her back into the kitchen, hoping against hope I'd be able to salvage the mess she'd left us in.

To be totally fair she hadn't exactly done nothing towards dinner, she's totally been winding me up. In fact there were herbs washed and chopped ready, and the beef joint we'd bought specially had been lovingly daubed in seasoning, our home made garlic oil and leaves of Rosemary and Lemon Thyme.

Even raw it smelt fucking amazing.

'Looking good babe,' I said nodding in pleasure at her efforts, 'so, what's left to do?'

'Well I was about to start peeling the spuds,' she said stretching out her back, tilting her neck back making me long to rush over and kiss it. 'Then there's the rest of the veggies to wash and sort out and that stupid cake to bake.'

'Oi,' I said affronted. 'That's my secret weapon you're slagging off there, everyone loves my cardamom and coffee cake.'

'Well as long as _you're_ making it babe, that's ok. You know how crap I am at baking.'

'We'll do it together babe,' I told her grabbing the bag of potatoes and putting it on the small table we used for our casual breakfasts. 'Once we've got everything else on the go that is, it doesn't take long. I'll start weighing things out ready, if you'll peel those for me.'

I got a roll of the eyes from her as she sat down on one of the thin metal chairs and picked up the peeler in those long sensuous fingers. Fingers that had given me, _did_ give me, such pleasure when they touched me; wherever they touched me.

I stood at the counter-top trying not to stare as she carefully sorted through the potatoes, choosing one of the large ones and spinning it delicately around in her fingers looking for imperfections. I fought back a smile as I watched her intent look and the little satisfied nod she gave before setting to work peeling the skin from the flesh; she's such a perfectionist, everything has to be _'just so'_.

I thought back to when we'd decorated the spare bedroom at our new place, the walls had to be _just_ the right shade of blue, we had to have a _specific_ type of lamp and a very _particular _type of bed. No detail was too small to avoid her observation; it's one of the things I love and hate about her in equal measure, depending on how rushed and stressed I'm feeling.

I casually began grinding the cardamom pods I'd located, exactly where I'd put them in the cupboard by the cooker, in the mortar and pestle she'd bought me and continued my surreptitious watching. I can't help my grin as she deftly runs the peeler over the humble potato, holding it carefully as if it was a precious gem. Her motions ceasing only when she finished, and she placed the bare spud on the side and selected another one to peel, those long fingers searching and gripping once more; searching and gripping and twisting and stroking...

'How many do you think we'll need Ems?'

'Sorry?' I said waking from the slightly less than clean thoughts I was having about her hands, and what I'd like them to be doing right now, and looking up at her.

'How many potatoes do you want me to peel?'

'Fuck knows babe, I mean we've got a lot of food, but dad does like his roasties, it's his one real vice food wise.'

'I remember,' she said laughing as she peeled away at another huge potato. 'I was sure he was going to kill me for nicking the last one that first Christmas at yours.'

'He probably would have done hun, apart from the fact that he adores you.'

She blushed, the faintest hint of pink making her already glowing cheeks look even more kissable. 'Kieran likes his potatoes as well according to mum, perhaps I should peel the entire bag?'

'That'd be great babe,' I replied enthusiastically. 'I was thinking about doing some Dauphinoise potatoes as well so whatever we don't choose to roast can go in there.'

'Christ Ems, how much are we going to food are we going to put our for these guys? It's only our parents after all, it's not like they haven't eaten with us before.'

'As much as I can fit on the table and then some Nai,' I told her smugly. 'I want them going home so full they won't want to eat another thing for at least a week. No-one leaves the Campbell house hungry; besides _I'm_ starving today, and you need to eat more as well.'

'I certainly don't,' she replied indignantly, picking up a potato and hacking at it ruthlessly. 'I'm getting fat.'

'I put down the grinder and walked across to her, sliding my arms around her shoulders from behind and pressing my lips against her ear.

'You are not getting fat Mrs Campbell, if anything you're more beautiful today than you were when I first saw you.'

'Well I think I'm getting fat.'

'Well if you think that babe then you're stupider than my mother thinks you are.'

I kissed her soft skin and squeezed her shoulders tightly. 'You're not fat, you're beautiful and I'm the only person who's opinion you can trust.'

'and why's that Mrs Campbell?' she asked, twisting her head slightly giving me a better shot at her neck.

'because I'm the only one that's studied you for years my darling wife, I'm the one that's studied every part of your body, watched every line and wrinkle appear and every freckle and...'

'I do not have wrinkles, I'm only twenty nine!'

'Yeah, but you're older than me babe and you do have a couple; but it's ok because they just add to your beauty. Like everything else.'

I allowed my hands to slip down her body, stroking and caressing as I did so, loving that familiar feeling as she relaxed into my touches, knowing that they made her feel as good as I did when she did the same thing to me.

'Now come on you, those potatoes won't peel themselves; quicker we get things in and done, the quicker we can take a shower...and believe me, I'd like to take our time over a shower rather than rush around at the last minute.'

I allowed my fingers to caress the smooth mounds of her breasts, hidden slightly beneath the thick hooded top she was wearing against the autumn chill, smiling at the breath that escaped from her lips as I cupped her through the cloth, holding her like she had held the potato she had lovingly peeled.

'You're terrible Emily Campbell,' she said breathily as I drew my hands away and kissed her smooth neck once more.

'Get peeling wifey,' I told her, 'and I won't tease you anymore, well not until we get in that shower anyway; and then only in a good way.'

'I hate you sometimes Ems,' she said grinning at me as I walked back to my grinder and began working away.'

'No you don't,' I told her confidently sticking out my tongue cheekily.'

'No,' she agreed nodding at me, 'you're right, I really don't.'

It didn't take her long to peel and then chop up the bag of potatoes, and I carefully carried them back in the pan of salted water and placed them on the stove to parboil while she began the slicing up the remainder for the Dauphinoise. I'd carefully washed and prepared the vegetables to go with the dinner, the baby potatoes scrubbed lightly and put in the foil steamer bag with a good glass of wine and just a hint of cumin. The parsnips sliced into wedges and seasoned before being brushed with honey.

'It's looking good babe,' I told her as we tucked the last of the food into the oven and sat back to inspect our efforts.

'Certainly is hun,' she replied with a proud smile; looking at me a little more than the work that we'd done to get dinner organised.

'Cheeky,' I replied, winking at her and getting an indignant reply.

'What, you look as good as it does, and it really _does_ look good. Smells fucking good too.'

'Yeah, it's going to be an amazing dinner party Nai, we might actually convince people that we're all grown up now.'

'Emily Campbell, we've been together for twelve years and married for five of them; do you still think we need to convince people of that?'

'Sometimes I do love,' I told her honestly, leaning down to check on the roast joint through the glass oven door. 'Sometimes I think your folks still think we're kids and that even now, even after getting married, my folks don't think we're serious at all.'

I caught myself getting all morose and decided to change tack immediately before I burst the happy little bubble we'd been existing in all day, all week actually. 'Joint's looking good though, I think I'll turn the oven down and allow it to slowly roast for a bit.'

I felt her arms wrap around me as I stood, wrapping me up in her own personal blanket of love.

'Doesn't matter what other people think Ems,' she whispered, pressing those soft, luscious cherry red lips to my ear, causing the hairs on the back of my neck to prickle. 'It's not about what other people think, it's _never_ been about what other people think. Just about what _we_ think, that's what's important.'

'I know love,' I told her, recognising the truth of her words. 'It's just sometimes I feel like people don't realise just what all this means.'

'All this means exactly what all this means,' the love of my life replied cryptically gesturing around us with her arm.

'And what does that mean?' I asked.

'It means _us_.'

Her lips brushed against my neck once more and I felt that overwhelming feeling of bliss at their soft pressure; right on the soft piece of skin below my ear, just where she knows I'm very sensitive, just where she knows it never fails to turn me on.

'Stop that you,' I whispered breathily, my pulse pounding in my temple.

'Stop what?' she asked softly, allowing her lips to caress my earlobe as she spoke.

'Stop being so bloody sensible, and stop being so bloody sensual as well,' I said reluctantly easing myself out of her grasp. 'We've still got loads to do babe, we've got the starter and the dessert to prepare; so it's _your_ turn to stop teasing _me _and trying to get me all hot and bothered.'

'Fine,' Naomi said stepping past me towards the cooker in a fake huff, 'I'll get these spuds sorted and in the goose fat and then I'll get the soup cooking. Though why you made that vegetable soup I don't know, your mother never makes a decent soup whenever we go round for dinner…'

'NO!' I shouted as she babbled away, realising at the last second what she was going to do. 'Leave it Naomi, I'll do that.'

I nudged her out of the way as she grumbled her discontent at me; picking up the large pan of potatoes and pouring the contents into the colander I'd placed into the sink for that very purpose.

'I'm not totally incapable Ems,' she said huffily, genuinely this time; I fixed her with my serious look and stared her down. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she backed down.

'Ok, ok, have it your way. I'll get the soup out of the fridge, if that's ok with you?'

'Don't be like that Naomi,' I replied more than a little hurt, 'it's for your own good you know.'

'I know, I'm sorry. I just don't like feeling like an invalid you know?'

'You're not an invalid Naoms, I can't help it if I want to wrap you up in cotton wool and keep you safe that's all. Now if you'll get the soup going, I can get these roasties on before they're ruined.'

I leaned back and gently slapped her on her, still extremely grabbable, arse; causing her to jump and squeal lightly.

'What happened to cotton wool Emily Campbell?' she asked with a long awaited smile, breaking like the dawn over a hillside. 'That's spousal abuse that is.'

'Well if you pulled your finger out and _behaved_ you'd be all right; besides, you love it!' I told her swinging an arm at her ass again.

'It's just as well I love you Emily Campbell,' she said opening the fridge door and scowling at me, 'or I'd have to set the terror that is my mum on you.'

'I'd simply tell her what you were up to babe and then she'd never let you hear the end of it.'

She looked at me, her head tilted slightly as is her wont when she was thinking up a reply, her soft skin glowing under the harsh LED light.

'You're probably right Ems,' she said grabbing the container of soup from the shelf and closing the door. 'She has become a little bit protective recently.'

'Well you have only just got out of the hospital love, and the doctors told you to take it easy so there aren't any complications. You gave us all a real scare last month babe and I don't want that to happen again ok?'

'Yeah,' she sighed, 'I know Ems, I'm sorry. It's just…'

'I know Naoms, I understand. I really do.'

I know she's frustrated by all this but it's for her own good, I don't want anything to happen to her; I won't _let_ anything happen to her. She's fiercely independent still is my wife, and sometimes I've got to get her to understand how silly some of the things she does are, and how worried I get because of them.

Still I wouldn't change her for the world, despite all of that.

We finished off the rest of our preparation work in a bit of a subdued silence, those potatoes going into the searingly hot fat before being placed into the second oven along with the rest of the vegetables.

Despite the silence everything was going swimmingly, right up until we started working on the cake. Though nothing actually went wrong, _per se_, more that things went a little astray.

'Naomi, fuck off.' I yelled across the kitchen, dodging her attempts to pour flour over my head. 'It's not fucking funny.'

'You seemed to think it was,' she told me finally managing to grab me and rub my head with her sticky hands. Hands that had just been mixing flour and water, hands that were totally covered in cake mix, hands that were now really making a mess of my clothes and hair.

'Naomi, seriously quit it, I don't want to have to wash my hair again.'

'Too late Ems,' she laughed; rubbing those hands firmly into my head. 'If I've got to wash my fucking hair you're washing yours.'

She had a point, after all it _had_ been me that had started our impromptu food fight, placing my mix covered hands onto her cheeks in the pretence of a kiss and then running them through her hair before she'd realised what had happened. It had been me that had placed my hands onto her stomach from behind as well slightly earlier, leaving two perfectly formed hand prints in white flour on her black top, resulting in the first squeal of indignation from my wife.

I hadn't been comfortable with the silence that had fallen; I'd found it oppressive, and awkward and I wanted it gone. Playing a silly game of food tag with my wife was the best way I could think of doing that, despite the consequences, and there were consequences believe me. By the time we'd finished, the kitchen was trashed. Flour and cake mix, water and cardamoms and everything in between was scattered across the work surfaces and the floor. Even Naomi and I looked like we'd been indulging in a bit of splooshing; which was _exactly_ what my sister thought when she arrived to drop off the wine I'd asked her to get for us.

'Fucking hell,' she announced from the back door bags in hand. 'I know you two are filthy most of the time, but this is taking your food perversion to new heights.'

'Don't you ever knock Fitch,' Naomi asked, trying to dust herself down, only succeeding in making her black top even dirtier as the mess from her hands transferred to it in thick lumps.

'I did knock Campbell, but you didn't answer so I let myself in around back, like I normally do.'

To my amusement Naomi didn't seem to have an answer for this and let the matter drop, making a big play of washing her hands in the sink. 'Where's Eff?' she asked simply as if the matter had never been raised between them.

'Probably still waiting at the front door, she was having a smoke.'

Naomi's eyes lit up at the thought and then guiltily flashed to mine. I simply raised an eyebrow at her and smiled as she flushed and headed out into the hall to open the door. She's quit smoking and started again so many times in out relationship I've lost count, but this time she'd promised me it was for good.

'Where do you want these, bitch?' Katie said waving her bag at me.

'In the fridge, whore.'

Katie smiled at me as she began stacking the bottles onto the rack, 'Been having fun Emily?' she asked looking around at the mess.

'Looks like they've been having more than fun,' a familiar dry voice said from the doorway to the garden.

I grinned at Effy and winked, looking around to see if Naomi had appeared with her. It was only when I felt her arms around me that I realised that she'd come back into the kitchen from the other direction.

'Ems, have you seen the time babe,' she said; the faintest hint of panic in her voice. 'We'd better get this place tidied if we're going to get showered and ready in time.'

It was with a slight frenzy that we attacked the kitchen with brooms and cloths getting back to it's normal state in half the time thanks to my sister and her girlfriend.

'Cheers guys,' I thanked them breathlessly, followed immediately by 'Oi!,' as I spotted that Katie had helped herself to our booze.

'It's ok Ems, we've got enough to go around,' Naomi said as Katie tipped her glass to me. 'Besides, we can always get more. I'll grab a shower while you keep an eye on dinner and then I'll pop round the corner and pick up the bits we've forgotten, or Katie's drunk.'

'Good plan Campbell,' Katie said topping up her glass and pouring one for me. 'Better get a move on though.'

'I'll drive you round mate,' Effy said, looking at the large glass of Grenache that Katie had helped herself to with envious eyes.

'Cheers Eff, I owe you one.'

'Yeah, I'll add it to the list shall I?'

'Do that.'

I trusted the pair of them to watch our food, turning down the ovens a little just in case and crept upstairs, slipping quietly into the bathroom while she was in the shower; wondering if I'd be able to get undressed and join her before she knew I was there.

'Can you grab the baby oil Ems, rub some into my skin?'

'How did you know I was here?' I asked, a little disappointed. 'I was being quiet!'

'I always know you're there Ems, don't you know that by now?' She replied turning off the water and slipping out of the shower. 'Besides, it's fucking freezing in here when you open that door, it creates a hell of a draught.'

She stood in front of the mirror and ran her hands over her body, looking mournfully at her reflection.

'I'm getting fat,' she said sadly.

'You're not getting fat.' I told her in reply.

'I look terrible.'

'You,' I said firmly, kissing her navel, 'look fucking beautiful, incredible, you positively glow babe.'

'You would say that.'

'You're fucking right I would!'

I nudged her playfully as I opened the top on the bottle, pouring the oil into my hand. Smiling she turned away from me and allowed me to rub the moisture capturing oil into her wet skin, my hands running all over her soft skin.

'Oils eh Ems?' She said as I ran my hands over her breasts and down her sides.

'Yeah babe, oils.' I replied now running my hands over her swollen abdomen, marvelling at the life that now slept within. 'I never thought that we'd be using them for this though Nai.'

'Nor me, it's all a bit scary isn't it?

'What you, me and a baby?'

'Yeah,' she replied placing her hands over mine, over the life that we were bringing into the world. 'You, me, a baby…and this fucking dinner party.'

I collapsed in laughter at her words and hit her with a convenient towel. 'Trust you to ruin the moment Campbell,' I accused as I began to rub down her back.

'Yeah, but I totally rescued it as well,' she said with a knowing grin, 'now get in the shower while I go and get dressed. I really should check on dinner as well.'

'It's ok babe,' I told her, 'Katie and Effy are watching it for us.'

'Shit!' She announced rubbing her glowing body with the towel vigorously. 'It's probably ruined then, you know how distractible those two are.'

In a blur of movement that belied her size, she'd kissed me and headed into the bedroom. I could see her getting dressed as I stripped my filthy clothes from my body and headed for the shower myself.

When I finally made it downstairs I found Katie sat at our tiny kitchen table alone, flicking through a magazine and sipping at her wine.

'Everything's fine Emily, I had enough jibes for your fucking wife so don't you start,' she said as I looked over at the oven, checking on dinner. 'You look smart,' she said finally looking up and spotting my outfit; my best frock and my best jewellery as well.

'Yeah well we're making an effort tonight, you know. Trying to prove we're all grown up and shit.'

'Emsy you're married with a big posh house and a kid on the way. Of course you're all _'grown up and shit'_.'

'You looking forward to being Auntie Katie?' Naomi's voice came from the hallway and her and Eff appeared carrying bags of 'bits'.

'Fucking right,' Katie said as I took the bags off my wife and started putting things away. 'I can't wait to load the little bugger up on sugar then fuck off home leaving you to deal with the aftermath.'

'I wouldn't expect anything less of you,' Naomi said, giving me a quick peck on the cheek as she set down a box on the counter. 'How's dinner looking love?'

'I think it's all ready Nai,' I told her, pulling on an apron and lifting the roast out to rest. Bit longer for the spuds and the other bits but all's looking good. Our timing is impeccable as usual.'

She winked at me as I beamed proudly and lit the gas under the pan of home made soup I'd prepared earlier.

'In fact Nai, everything's perfect. Dinner is ok to stay warm now, starter is heating up and dessert is…'

I froze in horror. I'd totally forgotten about dessert. The fucking cardamom's that had started all this were tossed in the bin, along with the rest of my carefully planned special dessert. Naomi looked at me quizzically as the colour drained from my face, our perfect fucking dinner party ruined.

'Dessert Naomi, fucking dessert. We threw it away when we were cleaning up. What the fuck are we going to do?'

Naomi stepped across to me and pulled me into a hug, rubbing my back in the soothing way she knew would instantly drag me from a fit of the panics.

'It's ok, I've thought about that. I bought a large blackcurrant cheesecake and a big pot of fresh cream for dessert while I was out babe; I got a few canapé's as well for when they arrive, as well as some more booze just in case.'

'You think of everything don't you babe,' I said relaxing into her embrace. 'I'll have to remember to thank you for that later.'

'Yeah, that food fight sort of scuppered our afternoon didn't it hun? Still if you don't get too drunk tonight I'm sure we can have a good evening together.'

I tilted my head up to hers and kissed her tenderly, our lips moving together, our tongues gently touching. Caught in the moment, I totally forgot about our guests until a slight clearing of a throat broke us apart.

'Come on Katie,' Effy said, 'they've obviously forgotten we're here so I think it's time to go. Give them a bit of time to get things ready before their guests arrive; or give them a chance to go fuck their brains out, whichever they prefer.'

'Sorry guys,' I said feeling slightly embarrassed that we'd ignored them. 'Thanks for helping us out. I doubt we'd be ready for this fucking dinner party if it wasn't for you guys.'

'Yeah, about that Emsy,' Katie said standing and folding her arms angrily. 'How come _we_ didn't get an invite to your first dinner party in your new house?'

I looked up at Naomi and surreptitiously winked before turning back to my sister, knowing exactly what I wanted to say to her.

'This is a six seater table Katie,' I said, desperately fighting back a smile. 'What do you want me to do?'


	5. Author 4

**4. Dinner Can Be Perilous Too**

"Ems, I can get it if you-"

"No, you're doing it all wrong; here, just give it-"

"Would you just-you're in the way; I can't get the pot."

"Don't use that one. She likes the green one."

"It's a fucking pot of water, Ems. It doesn't matter."

"This is my mum's birthday, it's got to be perfect."

"Is she going to crucify me because I boiled noodles in the wrong pot?"

"This is _my_ mother we're talking about, Naoms."

"Point taken." Naomi backed away. "Alright, then. She's your mother. _You_ boil the water."

Emily hefted the pot into the sink. "And what are you going to do?"

Naomi plopped down on their loveseat. "I can just lie here and be your eye candy."

"Cheeky." Emily tossed her some carrots with a smile. "Get to peeling."

"Yes, ma'am." Naomi winked and stood up, grabbing the peeler out of the drawer under the sink. She and Emily worked in silence, circling around each other with grace, moving only when they had to and without any unnecessary motions. This had been such a simple dinner on paper. Of course, Naomi should have realized that when it came to Jenna Fitch, nothing was ever really that simple.

It had been a hard-fought battle with Jenna, and Naomi wasn't sure that she would ever win, but their relationship had evolved into some sort of truce over the years. (It was hard not to when they were forced to interact more often than an occasional snarky exchange). There still wasn't much affection, but they had come to respect each other as equally important figures in Emily's life. (If anyone asked, and if Emily wasn't there to refute her, Naomi would say she had always had that attitude toward Jenna, and thus had always been the bigger person.)

Still, she had backed down for Emily's sake, because when it came to her tiny redhead, there wasn't anything she wouldn't do. At the moment, 'anything' included standing over a garbage can peeling ten tons of carrots.

"Seriously, Ems," she whined. "There aren't that many people coming tonight. We don't need this many carrots."

"Do you know how to roast carrots?"

"No."

"So you're peeling batches two and three."

"Ems, the recipe isn't that hard to follow. I think we can manage."

Emily looked askance at her and Naomi immediately felt uneasy. "What happened the last time you tried to heat up soup in the microwave, Naoms?"

Naomi shuffled her feet and hung her head. "I left a metal spoon in the bowl and everything exploded."

"Right, so now that you're going to be by an open flame, we're taking precautions, okay?"

Naomi rolled her eyes. "Okay, okay."

"Okay, so you're halfway done. Stop talking and get going."

Naomi barely contained an indignant huff before she remembered that she wasn't in college anymore and Emily was expecting her to act like an adult. She did have to roll her eyes once more, though. Besides, as she swiped the peeler a little too close to her fingers, she realized that Emily might have a point. She wasn't the most kitchen-savvy person in the world.

It got a little better as the day went on. Emily came to realize that Naomi's hands, inexperienced as they were at cooking, were still useful at carrying out chopping and other fairly easy tasks. She set Naomi to chopping vegetables and herbs, only occasionally throwing in a sarcastic remark. ("Uniform pieces, Naoms. We're not trying to create garlic shards.") Naomi smiled silently at each of them, knowing that the better she behaved, the more likely Emily was to repay the favor later.

Truthfully, Naomi was having fun learning from Emily. Once both of them stopped bantering and started cooking, it became a memory for both of them. Emily's cooking side had always been one of Naomi's favorites; it was calmer, more exact, more subdued. There was a factory feel to her movements: put this veggie in the pan, turn back to cutting board, scoop up that spice, pivot to skillet, add. But she was more polished than that. If there was a way to make conveyor belts sexy, Emily Fitch had found it.

"Stop staring, Naoms," Emily said with a smirk. "You're meant to be chopping."

Naomi shook her head to clear it as she glanced down at her neat piles of various minced and julienned foods. "Actually, I think I'm done," she said with just a hint of surprise.

Emily narrowed her eyes and checked Naomi's work, reluctantly coming to the same conclusion. "So you are," she conceded. "Feel like setting the table then?"

"Of course, darling," Naomi simpered.

Emily called after her as she walked away. "Remember to use..."

"...the good plates," Naomi finished. She hefted them in her hands as she made her way to the table. "I know, Ems. I'm actually quite intelligent most of the time."

Emily looked over her shoulder as she stirred sauce on the stove, smiling adoringly at Naomi. "I knew there was a reason I always kept you around," she quipped. It was little moments like this one that made Naomi wonder how she had ever fought against Emily.

"Hey, Ems, how many people are eating tonight?" Naomi asked casually as she set the plates down.

"Mmm, eight, I think," Emily mused. "You, me, Mum, Dad, James, Katie, Thomas-I still can't believe they're dating," she murmured to herself. "And Gina, of course. Should be an interesting dinner. Why?"

"Oh, no reason," Naomi replied, straightening a fork on its napkin. "It's just that we've only got seven plates."

Emily whipped around, sauce flying off the wooden spoon and splattering the floor. "What? We've got to have eight. We can't serve dinner on mismatched plates. God, of course this happens tonight; if it were anyone else, we'd be eating on paper plates..."

The doorbell rang, interrupting Emily's rant and planting a look of terror in her eyes. Naomi couldn't hold back a chuckle.

"Could you get that, Naoms? I'm kind of busy," Emily said tersely. "And now I've got to figure out what to do about these fucking plates."

Naomi shook her head and pushed Emily toward the door. "Oh, no," she said. "This is your party. Go play hostess. I'll fix the plates."

"But-"

"No, no," Naomi insisted, grinning widely. "This is _your_ mother, after all."

It was worth the glare.


	6. Author 5

**5. Naomi Campbell and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Attempt At Cooking (That Kind of Turned Out Okay Actually)**

The house smelled weird when Emily got home from work and before she could even open her mouth to ask why she was interrupted.

"Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck _fuck_!"

Emily's eyebrows shot up and she dropped her bag by the door. "I'll take 'number one thing you never want to hear come from the kitchen' for 500, Alex," she said out loud.

Naomi's grinning face appeared in the doorway between the kitchen and living room. "Oh come on, Ems, I'm sure that's not true. I can think of a few things that are worse."

"Not many," Emily said dryly. "And weren't you just fucking about something?"

"Maybe later," Naomi winked and then blanched. "Oh shit!" The blonde head in the doorway disappeared and Emily tried to keep her groan internal.

It didn't work. She bypassed the kitchen entirely and went upstairs to change, pointedly ignoring the clink of pots and pans and the occasional quiet swear coming from the other side of the house.

"What are you _doing_?" she asked warily as the noises grew louder when she walked down the stairs (now dressed much more comfortably).

"I'm making dinner!" Naomi's voice floated above the ruckus.

"It smells like you're burning dinner."

"Well, that too."

Emily entered the kitchen and coughed. "Um, fairly certain there's not supposed to be this much smoke involved in making dinner."

Naomi stood in the middle of the kitchen, 'Kiss The Cook' apron slightly askew and hanging off one shoulder, hair falling out of her messy bun, with what looked like flour on the tip of her nose and across one cheek. She had a spatula in one hand and a sheepish expression.

"Surprise?" she offered weakly, coughing and swiping at the air around her.

Emily burst out laughing. She quickly went over and wrenched open the window far enough so that the smoke all started to filter outside inside of swirling around and increasing the chances of the alarm going off. While Naomi stood watching her she went over to the stove and, oven mitt securely on, very quickly pulled out whatever was inside and threw it onto the stove before it could spontaneously burst into flames.

"What is this supposed to be?" she asked.

Naomi scowled at the dish like it had personally offended her. "I was trying to make you lasagna as a surprise for when you got home," she said pathetically. "It didn't work as well as I thought it would."

Emily pressed her lips tightly together to keep her laughter in check at the pout forming on Naomi's face. "It was a nice thought." She brushed the flour off of Naomi's cheek affectionately and leaned up to kiss her. Their noses brushed together and a bit of flour smudged off onto Emily's. She didn't mind. "How about we try again?

Twenty minutes later the windows of the kitchen were thrown wide open to get out the last vestiges of smoke and Naomi was sitting obediently on the counter, a careful distance away from anything on the stove. Emily hummed quietly as she stirred the sauce and checked the pasta every so often.

"It was supposed to be a surprise," Naomi explained for the umpteenth time. "I figured, 'well I've seen Mum make lasagna before so it can't possibly be that hard' and I know how much you like it. I was going to surprise you."

Emily bit the inside of cheek to stop herself from gushing at the absolute adorableness that was her girlfriend. "You did a good job for your first try," she lied.

They both looked at the burned and unrecognizable mess that was Naomi's attempts at dinner. It was still smoking slightly despite sitting on the windowsill in the open air for at least fifteen minutes.

Naomi snorted. "Oh yeah," she rolled her eyes. "Next top chef over here. Guess I should leave the cooking to you, huh?"

"I promise you we will spend a whole day of doing nothing but teaching you how to cook. Deal?" she waited for Naomi's nod. "Good. Now taste this." She fished a piece of pasta out of the pot and held it over Naomi's mouth. "Is it done?"

Naomi leaned forward and sucked the pasta out of Emily's hand, being extra careful to run her tongue along Emily's fingers. She made a big show of chewing thoughtfully while Emily stood in front of her – now a big ball of extremely turned-on redhead. "Perfect," she declared finally with a wicked smirk.

Emily had to clear her throat twice before she could speak without squeaking. "Good," she choked out. She took the pasta off the burner and turned down the flame on the sauce. "This needs to simmer for a bit," she said unnecessarily.

Then she spun around decisively, grabbed Naomi by the front of her t-shirt, and dragged her laughing girlfriend upstairs.


	7. Author 6

**6. Let's Play Pretend.**

This used to be fun. Making dinner together had been about laughter, shared looks, casual touches. Sometimes, they had forgotten all about dinner long before it was done. It wasn't fun anymore. Now it was icy glares. Silence filling the space that before had been filled with laughter, eyes never meeting, distance that stretched for miles between them. The reasons for abandoning the dinners now completely different.

She was gripping the knife too hard. The ache inside her intensified, echoing the pain in her hand. She watched the knife slice through the onion, struggling to keep the tears inside. A drawer slammed shut with a bit too much force, making her loose control over the blade in her hand. There was no apology, no questions of her being ok or not, but that would have been pointless, none of them were ok. She watched the cut form on her finger, her other hand slowly letting go of the knife. A peel of laughter sounded from the living room. She wished she was out there, instead of stuck in the bitter silence of the kitchen. She reached for a towel, pressing it against the wound. The blood bloomed against the whiteness. The red fascinated her, it always had.

A sigh escaped her, it sounded too loud. She stiffened, hoping it hadn't been noticed, hurriedly picking up the knife again. The chopping was more awkward now, the towel wrapped around her hand. There was no recognition that she could hear, no answering sigh. She really wished there were, but wishing was pointless. If wishing worked she would be over there, next to her, casually touching skin, eyes allowed to actually look again. Instead she was reduced to quick glances, getting angry glares when she looked for too long, to watching her while she slept. It was the only time she could let herself really look at her these days. If wishing worked, there would have never been any need to wish in the first place.

She slid the onion across when she was done, she didn't smile and murmur that she was done, she didn't even look up. Couldn't face the blank stare that would have looked back at her. Instead she grabbed some plates from the kitchen cabinet and started to set the table. The cutlery came next and she made sure to put it down right, her mind flashing with images of being explained in a jokingly manner just where the knives and forks should go. She wanted to do it right, she realised. Just one thing right. That was probably the reason she hadn't objected to this in the first place. A dinner party to celebrate them moving in together. There was nothing to celebrate, but if normal was what she wanted, normal was what she would give her. If she wanted to pretend they were ok, ok was what they were. Even though nothing was normal, nothing was ok and it felt like she was living in a nightmare.

The door opened and her second family filtered in. That's what she saw them as now, even Katie. She watched them settle down around the table, bottles of alcohol being passed around. It felt nice for a moment, before she saw the red hair, before she heard the laughter in her voice. The reality of the situation crashed down on her again and the empty feeling in her chest was back.

Effy hardly took her eyes off of them all night. The knowing light in her eyes was just about driving her out of her skin. She wanted to just shout out what she had done, how she had fucked up everything, but nothing came out. Even JJ noticed the weird tension and she overheard him ask Cook if there had been a fight that he had missed. The guilt was unbearable, coiling in her stomach, ready to explode out and be relieved. She won't let it though.

She couldn't wait for them all to leave so she wouldn't have to smile anymore. It hurt. At the same time she didn't want them ever to leave, because she was laughing and she hadn't heard that sound in weeks. She dared a look, intending it just to last a second, but it must have lasted longer. The laughter died as she looked back and the hurt and anger came rushing back in those beautiful brown eyes. It made her feel sick.

She couldn't stay in the same room after that, had to get out. Effy found her in the garden, but mercifully, didn't say a word to her. They just sat there, smoking silently. They lost track of time, or at least she did, because all too soon Effy squeezed her knee and got up. She watched her walk away, wanting Effy to stay until she could actually voice the ugliness of what she had done.

She slipped inside some time later, the house is silent again and all the others must have left. Instead of questioning why no one came to say good bye to her, she started cleaning up the messy kitchen. The task was mundane, but enough to take her mind off her own guilt for a second. These days a second was more than enough, more than she deserved. She hoped the seconds would stretch, become minutes, they never did. She contemplated drinking the rest of the alcohol instead of putting the bottles neatly away. She refrained though, afraid that if she started, she might not know how to stop.

Another hour passed, the kitchen looked spotless. She stared, wanting something else to occupy her. Couldn't stand the thought of another night awake, watching her sleep. She sat staring at the wall instead. Trying her best not to think of anything. The lights she had shut off, suddenly flicked to life overhead. She looked up blinkingly, for a moment, but looked quickly back at the wall.

"You're still here." The voice held an accusation, but she wasn't sure of what.

She didn't understand it. Did the voice mean the kitchen, or the house? In the end it didn't matter. "Yeah, I'm still here." She answered, quietly. Because, really, where else would she be?


	8. Author 7

**7. Take Away**

"Babe, could you _please_ come help me with this? My mum and dad are going to be here in like... not very long!"

Naomi rolled her eyes and smiled a bit to herself at Emily's irrational anxiety. The Fitch family coming to dinner was not a big deal anymore. Jenna, whom everyone thought would simply turn a blind eye and pretend that her daughter was not a lesbian, had actually begun to come around to the idea of having a slightly more open mind. With both of the twins out of college and moving on to the truly independent phases of their lives, mama Fitch realized that unless she sincerely worked at accepting the young redhead and her girlfriend, both of her daughters would be lost.

Jenna had even gone as far as to invite Naomi for Christmas dinner at the well known, and somewhat feared, six-seater table. They managed to get through the entire meal without direct verbal abuse of any kind, and although Jenna's smile started out impossibly tight lipped, as the night went on, and she saw how happy Emily seemed that her mum was making a real effort to make peace with her and her girlfriend, the tension in the air gradually dissipated.

The white flag of truce was flying high and mighty at the moment.

Naomi made her way out of her and Emily's bedroom, running a hand through her hair as she padded down the hall toward the stairs. "I'm coming, I'm coming. Keep your vagina on."

She sauntered into the kitchen casually, smiling at Emily bustling frantically around the kitchen, throwing random spices into the simmering pans on the stove. Naomi stepped up quietly behind her girlfriend, pressing into her back and placing her hands gently on the girl's hips. Resting her chin on the redhead's, she muttered, "What's cookin' good lookin'?" She placed a hot kiss just below Emily's ear, and smirked at the sigh the shorter girl tried and failed to stifle.

"I'm trying out this Italian recipe I found online. Can't tell if I'm getting it right, though."

Naomi peered into the pan they were both standing over. "Pasta? I thought you already made a lasagna."

Emily turned in her arms and raised one eyebrow. "I did. But _someone_ had me distracted upstairs, so I didn't hear the timer and it got all burnt and gross."

"Well as long as it went down for a good cause..." Naomi winked pulled the redhead closer for a kiss. Their lips moved together and she felt that familiar tingling begin to flood her body as their hands started to roam.

Just as she went to deepen the kiss and slide one leg between Emily's, her petit girlfriend pulled away. "Stop, I'm not going to let this dish meet my poor lasagna's same fate, am I? And could you please not turn my cooking into martyrs? The personification makes me feel bad for it." She grinned and turned back to the pans on the stove. Glancing at the recipe on the counter, she handed the paper to the blonde and asked over her shoulder, "Naoms, could you look at that and get me the oils and stuff? It should all be in that cupboard."

Naomi's smirk widened dirtily and a glint appeared in her eye. "Oils, eh?"

Emily paused what she was doing and turned to glance back at the peroxide blonde with her own mischievous look. "Yeah. And stuff." They both giggled at one of their favorite inside jokes. Naomi and Emily both loved how easily they could reference their past and laugh about it together.

Naomi went to the pantry and retrieved the ingredients. Walking back to her fiery lover, the blonde looked over some of the bottles and boxes more carefully. She set them down to one side, taking one of the bottles and presenting it to Emily with a flourish. "Olive oil, m'lady." She stepped closer so that her breath sent little shivers down the redhead's spine. "Although, it's extra virgin. I don't know about that."

Emily rolled her eyes and stuck her tongue out at the taller girl. Naomi's bright blues were even lighter than usual with the playfulness. "Hey, I already know what you did when you cashed in your V-card, Em, you don't have to show me again. Actually, on second thought, if you really want to..." She stepped into her, pressing their bodies together.

Emily pushed her back with a giggle. "You're just a cheeky little perv under all that sarcasm, aren't you?"

Naomi looked at the ceiling as if she were really thinking about her answer before replying simply, "Yes."

Emily shook her head, brown eyes glimmering. "Would you just get over here and help me cook?"

Naomi nudged Emily aside a bit with her hip and stared down at the pan in which something that smelled very garlicky was cooking. She glanced back and forth between the heating food and her girlfriend, entirely at a loss for what to do. "Um, Ems? Am I supposed to be stirring this or what?"

Emily dusted her hands off on her skirt and picked up the recipe, her brow creasing just slightly as she read. "Erm, I think you just put some oil in it and stir it around. Or something."

"Do I just pour it over all the stuff in the pan?" She smirked, another joke ready to fire. "I thought the oils were for the salads."

Emily, choosing to play along, responded, "Oh believe me, they're good on everything." She smirked, trailing a slender finger down the length of Naomi's bicep and across her forearm.

The bottle blonde turned towards her girlfriend, swallowing once. Her normally ice blue eyes were suddenly dark and hungry as they dragged slowly over the redhead's body. She slid an arm around Emily's waist, pulling the girl to her so they stood groin to groin. Her hand stealthily inched its way down towards the redhead's arse, and Emily's own hands reached up to tangle in Naomi's white-blonde locks. The taller girl leaned in so that their faces were centimeters apart. She pressed her lips to Emily's slowly and softly in a kiss that left both of them buzzing. "Everything?" She placed several wet kisses along the redhead's jaw line, tracing the path with her tongue.

Emily's head lolled back and she emitted a quiet, almost imperceptible moan. She closed her eyes and swallowed. When she opened them again, the chocolate brown was nearly black with desire. Her voice was huskier than usual, and it was shockingly forceful. "Everything." She grabbed Naomi by the back of the neck, pulling their faces together for a passionate kiss, pushing her tongue into the blonde's mouth. She pushed the blue-eyed girl backward, away from the stove and practically slammed her into the refrigerator, immediately thrusting her right knee up between Naomi's.

It was the blonde's turn to moan into the kiss this time, breaking apart long enough to mumble, "Fuck," before attacking the redhead's lips once more. Her fingers played at the hem of Emily's top, loving the feeling of the redhead's bare skin under her finger tips.

Her eyelids fluttered as Emily kissed down the center of her throat, and she was beginning to wonder how the heat between her legs wasn't burning a hole through her jeans. She wanted nothing more than to follow like an obedient puppy when her feisty girlfriend started to lead her in the direction of the stairs, but stopped when their staggering feet, mouths still clamped to each other, reached to door. Emily looked up at her, half frustrated, half confused. "What's up?"

Naomi regarded the situation. The heat between her legs was threatening to leave third degree burns, and she could see that Ems was dying for her own release, but if they left the room now, the food would almost certainly burn just like the disastrous lasagna. Then a thought struck her and she leaned down to kiss the redhead lightly for reassurance. "Nothing." She winked and grabbed hold of Emily's hand, leading her up the stairs, two at a time. A stroke of brilliance had hit her. Just three syllables that would once again let her have her cake and eat it too.

Take-away.


	9. Author 8

**8. Enough**

_[Post 4.04]_

When do you finally admit that maybe love just isn't enough? When do you need to take stock, place the hurt and the anguish on the scales of your relationship and balance them honestly against the good times? And how can you possibly live with the result?

Naomi leaned across the bench top to pick up a chopping board, accidentally brushed against Emily's arm in the process. Sighed, quietly, as the redhead's body stiffened, her movement frozen. Knife poised above a carrot. It was entirely reminiscent of a guillotine, and Naomi wished - not for the first time - that it would just fucking fall. Get on with it and end this agonising stasis that they existed in, one way or another.

She loved Emily, she really did. With her whole fucking heart and soul - and that's why it was killing her. Yes, she'd fucked up. The whole fucking town knew what a world class cunt she'd been. Emily had been entitled to punish her, entitled to make her feel guilty. But it had gone beyond that now. She was being slowly crushed under the load of silent recrimination. The burden of other women's perfume on the redhead's clothes. The oppressive weight of Emily's silent tears in the night, as they lay side by side - an unbridgeable gulf between them.

The only thing getting her through now was vodka. And spliffs. Had to medicate herself to numb the pain. Which disgusted the redhead, and so she would go out. Sneak back into the house late, hours after Naomi had gone to bed. The blonde had long ago perfected the skill of feigned sleep - would lie still, in exquisite torment, as more often than not Emily would surreptitiously touch herself. Her quiet, shuddering orgasms melting into tears, then sleep.

Naomi held onto hope. The fact that Emily came home to their bed... meant that she wasn't off sleeping with someone else. But it was poor comfort in the face of their pain. And that small hope was diminishing with each passing day.

The pressure was mounting. The stiff silences, halting, awkward conversations - it was suffocating, a miasma of condemnation, remorse and hurt making every movement a struggle, every breath an effort. Even something so simple as preparing a meal together felt practically insurmountable. And so, as they chopped vegetables, sliced chicken, boiled rice... she couldn't help but ask herself was it really worth it still? Would Emily ever forgive her, so they could move on? Where do you draw the line? How can they keep living this way?

The steady chop, chop, chop as Emily resumed slicing the carrot set her teeth on edge. Jaw clenched, shoulders hunched, she slapped the chicken down on the board. Attacked it with vigour. It was almost done when a quiet sniff made her look up. And a searing pain lanced through her thumb.

'Fuck!' Looked down, horrified, to see a deep gash across her thumb, blood seeping steadily all over the newly sliced chicken. 'Cunting... fuck.'

'What have you done?' The redhead's voice was hoarse, sounding rusty from disuse.

'Just... just a cut. I'll go and find a plaster.' She grasped her thumb tight with her other hand, applied pressure. Tried not to think about the germs from the chicken getting into the wound. Almost out the door on the way to the bathroom when Emily swore.

'Shit, Naomi, that's not just a cut, there's blood everywhere.'

'It's fine, I'll just go and fix it up, then I'll wash everything.'

'Don't be ridiculous, let me see.' Emily was in front of her now, tugging at her arm.

She held on stubbornly, pulled away. 'I'm fine, Ems.' Rushed into the bathroom, and stuck her hand under the tap. Wrenched the cold water on and watched in morbid fascination as the water turned a sickly pink before sliding down the drain.

A gasp from the doorway, then small hands were on her. 'Jesus fucking... You're going to need stitches, Naoms.'

The genuine concern in Emily's tone, the contraction of her name... brought a fleeting smile to a face no longer used to it. She knew she should probably protest as Emily gently washed her hand, patted it dry. Found some antiseptic cream and dabbed it carefully onto the wound, before placing a dressing on it. But it felt so very good to have the smaller girl touching her - caring for her again, no matter the circumstance. 'Ems...'

'Hmmn?'

'I... Thank you.'

Emily looked up. Brown eyes locked with blue, both horribly aware of their intimate proximity. She held Naomi's gaze for a long, breathless moment. Stood, abrupt. 'We should get you to the doctor.'

'No, I'll be fine. You wrapped it up perfectly, it'll be good as new.'

'Naomi...'

'No, I don't... it'll be fine, Ems. Really.'

'But if it gets infected...'

'I'll keep an eye on it. If it looks bad, I promise I'll go. Alright?'

Small shoulders relaxed, a sigh of concession. 'Okay.'

Naomi trailed the redhead into the kitchen. Quietly they cleared away the spoiled chicken. Emily gestured towards the stove-top, wordlessly indicating that Naomi should leave the knife-work to her - with a hint of rolled eyes. They lapsed back into silence but this time it felt... companionable. Working together rather than at crossed-purposes. Even the air felt lighter, somehow - as if a freshening breeze had blown through the house. Naomi was under no illusion that it would last, but for now she was damn well going to revel in it. And when she accidentally brushed Emily's shoulder as she reached past her for a wooden spoon, without a resulting flinch... Naomi knew that it was enough.

Maybe love was going to be enough.


	10. Author 9

**9. Ghosts On Fire**

Young Naomi Campbell, the university student burdened with such an unfortunate name, worked her way around the kitchen. Grabbing a knife here. Chopping potatoes into the pot over there. Giving the sauce a little stir in between. All the while she hummed, to herself, of course; there was no living soul to hear her. It wasn't a real song, just random vibrations filling up her throat, making noise for the sake of noise. It's easier than listening to the silence.

Her life recently had been nothing but silence. Even when people were talking around her, all she heard was the silence in between. The things they weren't saying. The gaps in understanding and communication. The absence of a certain voice that never let this kind of empty silence happen. It could be quiet, but never silent. Not like it was now that the empty space between phrases, between lines, was all she could hear.

Naomi hated the silence, but in moments of weakness she would wallow. Now, wallowing is never a useful thing. Dwelling just leads to misery, to regret. Naomi had both in ample quantity most days, so wallowing seemed like the natural company she should be keeping.

There were times, however, when she was strong, and in those moments was when she made noise. She craved it like a man stranded in the desert craves fresh water; he to drown his thirst, Naomi to drown the sounds of emptiness ringing off her eardrums, reminding her just how alone she was.

So she hummed. She passed the knife through the potatoes a little too quickly, letting the blade hit the cutting board underneath just a little too hard. She let the water in the kitchen sink run until the pot was overflowing, not even caring how wasteful it might be. She would have turned the radio on if it was working properly and attempted to sing along with whatever songs came on. They were all the same. "My girlfriend left me, let's get drunk" or "I fell in love, let's get drunk."

She paused; her hand outstretched on the cutting board, suspended above the pot of water, the chunks of potato tumbling off towards their watery grave.

She decided a drink might be nice.

She put the cutting board back on the counter, gently placing the knife on top. She lifted the pot from the sink and placed it on top of the stove. She opened a cabinet, hesitated, and then shut it again. She didn't need a glass. She turned and took the few steps towards the refrigerator. Her right hand grabbed the handle and pulled, her left hand expertly reaching inside and, almost instinctively, it found the bottle. Her hand emerged, victorious, the chilled vodka clutched in her grasp like a trophy of war.

She twisted the cap off and chucked it onto the counter, barely even noticing as it rolled and hit the toaster, bouncing off before coming to a wobbly stop.

She brought the bottle to her lips and threw it back, shutting her eyes as the liquid burned its way down the back of her throat. It travelled through her chest, looking for the escape, and then settled in her stomach. A few more swigs and the vodka would rebel. It would fight against its confinement and spark in rage, causing her whole belly to erupt in fire.

She took another pull off the bottle, sending more fuel down. She wanted the fire. She wanted it to spread to her head. The silence was easier to ignore when her mind was fuzzy. When her ears were filled with the rushing of her own blood.

She turned the stove on, the flame igniting instantly. It was too high at first, licking its way up the sides of the pot. She hesitated before turning it down, entertaining the idea of just burning the whole bloody house to the ground for a moment. It would be easy to call it an accident. She could move somewhere else. Somewhere that didn't have traces of the emptiness everywhere. It would still be silent, but a foreign silence. Easier to manage and ignore and fill up with useless noise.

She shook her head and took another swig. She could never be an arsonist, however much she longed to feel the burn.

She turned around and started to head out of the kitchen. She needed a smoke, as you sometimes do, but everything was upstairs. She was brought to an abrupt halt however by a figure standing in the doorway. It was taking up too much space for such a small person and our Naomi stumbled backwards a few paces.

Her jaw dropped open in either surprise or fear, possibly a little of both, as the figure stepped out of the shadowy hallway and into the kitchen's dim light. Naomi brought her hands up to cover her mouth, the bottle slipping from her grip and shattering on the tiles in the process. The liquid crept across the floor, searching still for an exit. It was pooling around the figure's feet, ready to spark in fury. Ready to turn the whole world the same shade of fire as the figure's hair.

Naomi's eyes were wide, locked onto the brown ones in front of her. They were the same shade, but clearer somehow. Maybe it was just that they weren't filled with tears anymore. Everything is clearer once the crying stops.

Her breath was shaky, her lungs having to work hard for air. "You… you're… but… Ems?"

Emily Fitch, who was for all intents and purposes, a ghost to Naomi, stepped forward, wanting to close the space between them. "Hi, Naoms."

Naomi's ears erupted. That voice. Always that voice. The silence melted away and Naomi heard the faint roaring of flames. She pushed it aside, assuming it was the stove. Some water might have boiled over and the fire was fighting for its life. For its right to burn.

"You… but…" Naomi shook her head, unable to believe that Emily really was standing in front of her in that moment. "I must be going mad. This can't be real." Muttering to oneself is usually a sign that one's brain isn't firing on all cylinders, so Naomi may very well be right.

Emily laughed. It was more of a chuckle, but for the reaction it caused inside of Naomi, it was the loudest, heartiest laugh that had ever erupted from a human being. "You're not going mad, Naoms. Actually, it's pretty impossible for you to lose your mind now."

"I don't… I mean… I don't understand. You were…. You are… I saw you. On the sidewalk outside the club. I… I was at your fucking funeral." Naomi's hands find the back of one of the kitchen chairs. She swings it out, gripping tight, shoving it into the space between them. She holds it like it will actually defend her against the delusion she's having. Emily can't be here, in her kitchen, what was _their_ kitchen for a brief period of time. After all, the dead don't walk. Not in real life.

Emily's lips turn up in what should be a smile, but is actually a sad, slightly amused, look of pity. "You don't understand, do you?"

"Understand what: that you're a ghost or that I've obviously gone bat-shit crazy?" Naomi won't look at this apparition anymore. She can't, it's too painful. If her mind is playing tricks on her, she'd rather it ended sooner than later. Emily couldn't be a ghost, of course, she convinced herself, because ghosts are just as real as the walking dead.

Emily moves forward, not even bothered by stepping on the shards of glass from the broken bottle, and tries to step around the chair. "It's neither, Naoms-"

"Stop calling me that! You aren't real, you aren't alive, and you aren't allowed!" Naomi shuffled blindly backwards, shaking the chair in front of her like a lion tamer trying to keep the beast at bay. It's futile. Her arms, her whole body, were shaking too much to hold it steady for long.

Emily placed her hands on the chair and slowly lowered it back to the ground. "You're right, Naoms. I'm not alive." A spark of pride at being right flashed through Naomi but quickly vanished. If Emily isn't alive then Naomi really had lost her mind. She forced herself to look at Emily. Those eyes, that voice, they cut through Naomi. "I'm not alive, but neither are you."

Naomi can't hold back her scoff of disbelief. "Yes, I am, obviously, since I'm hallucinating you being here."

"You were, but not anymore. And I'm not a hallucination." Emily reaches out, her fingertips gently grazing Naomi's cheek. Naomi feels the liquor in her belly finally ignite, and she is consumed with fire. Only it isn't just her belly. It's her legs, her arms, her face. Even the room around her is ablaze. "There was an accident, Naoms. A gas leak." Emily's words are drowned out by the roaring flames around them. But Naomi's eyes catch something on the floor. It's shaped like a body, but it can't be… it's blackened, destroyed beyond recognition.

Emily takes her hand and squeezes it. Naomi feels the small gold ring she always wears dig into the skin on her finger.

They stand, hand in hand, as the blaze spreads out from the kitchen, searching for oxygen and leaving flaming tendrils in its wake.

Naomi can't tear her eyes away from the body on the kitchen floor. It's hand… her hand… She's sure of it. The gold ring is still there, immune to the heat. All she can think before the smoke becomes too thick to see through is that it must not be real gold and that if she gets a choice in whom she haunts, it'll be that bastard who sold it to her, swearing it was fourteen karats.

She feels a tug on her hand and allows Emily to pull her from the room, out to near the front door, where the smoke is rising up the stairs, leaving the air cleaner than in the kitchen.

"Do you understand now?" Emily asks.

Naomi is surprised to feel herself nodding, but it must be true. She can feel the heat from the fire and she can smell the smoke, even taste it on the back of her tongue, but neither thing is affecting her like it should. Maybe she feels it because her body is still in the center of it all. The thought draws her up short and she stares at Emily. "My body." Emily looks puzzled. "My body. I thought of it, well, me, as my body."

"That's all it is now, Naoms." Emily squeezes her hand reassuringly. "You'll have plenty of time to adjust to the idea."

"Time?" It seems like a foreign concept for some reason.

"Yes, all the time you could ever want or need. It's yours now."

"What do I do?"

"Anything you want. You can see the world. You can see what lies beyond it. You can travel to the end of the universe, although, according to some people, by the time you reach it you'll end up right back at this spot." Emily shrugs, a whimsical smile stretching across her lips.

"Can I-" Naomi pauses, unsure what the new rules to her existence are now, "can I just stay with you? Go wherever you go? See whatever you see?"

Naomi thinks that Emily's smile is bigger and brighter than any star in the universe. She decides she wants to prove it. "Always," Emily whispers.

"Always." Naomi likes the sound of that.


	11. Author 10

**10. Maybe Tomorrow Night**

"This is rubbish," Emily said, tossing her piece of bread on the table. "I can't taste anything."

Naomi stopped dead, spoonful of soup only inches away from her mouth, and had the decency to appear at least slightly guilty. She had been shoveling mouthfuls of the her homemade soup with a vengeance, whilst Emily couldn't seem to be bothered eating at all. To emphasis the miraculous healing powers of her soup, Naomi's nose acted accordingly and began dribbling out of control. She took the corner of her over-sized sweater and wiped it up, gulped the spoonful of soup and wiped her mouth with the same sleeve.

"Gross," Emily said, scrunching her face in disgust. As if on cue, she sniffed in loudly, making sure her own nose didn't dribble.

"You're just jealous. You should have eaten my soup," Naomi said.

"Your soup tastes like shit," Emily countered.

"It's not designed to taste good, it's designed to unplug your nose," Naomi said, trying hard not to snap.

"Same difference."

"Doesn't look like your cheesy bread is doing you any good," Naomi said, gesturing to the slice of bread being ignored on Emily's plate. Emily's eyes hardened.

Two stares; two long minutes. They were both sick, annoyingly sick. The kind of sick that isn't enough to justify staying home all day in bed, but just enough to mess with your daily life. The colds were hanging on, and both girls were at their end point.

"I wouldn't touch your soup, even if I was two minutes away from death," Emily said dramatically. She had a tendency to be quite annoyingly mean when she was sick, this was no exception.

"Good, more for me," Naomi said. She too had a tendency to be equally as annoying.

Birds of a feather flock together. In this case, it was a blonde and a redhead on either side of a small kitchen table, staring daggers at each other, willing the other to push more buttons, if only for an excuse to yell.

"I bet I could make better soup," Emily said, a trace of challenge to her tone.

"It'd be nice to see you try, Miss-I-tried-to-boil-eggs-the-other-day-and-forgot-about-them-so-they-exploded," Naomi cut back.

"My soup will blow your mind," Emily said.

"Not if your brains are already over the walls from eating MY soup," Naomi said.

Naomi briefly wondered if this was all worth it. Then she realized that for the first time in nearly a week, she felt her blood coursing through her veins. She responded to challenges, almost craved them. This was a challenge. Not just any challenge though, it was a challenge from the person she loved and respected most on this planet. Also the one person on this planet who could drive her up the fucking wall.

Her headache dimmed, her throat ceased to hurt and she could ignore her dribbling nose for the first time in a week.

The color in Emily's cheeks told her she felt the same.

"Okay, we both go shopping, both make soup and who's ever is better gets the bed to themselves," Emily said, sitting back in her chair, sniffing loudly again.

Naomi cringed. She HATED when people did that. Just blow your god damn nose, for christ sake.

Emily sniffed again. A small eyebrow raised.

"Perfect," Naomi countered, wavering slightly at the bet. She slept better with Emily next to her at night, but then she suddenly recalled last night; Emily's loud, obnoxious, train wreck of nose sniffles. Her constant flipping.

Sniffle. Flip. Sniffle. Flip.

It was enough to send anyone running far, far away.

"Let's go then," Emily said, picking herself up off the table, grabbing her keys and shrugging on a loose jacket.

The two of them walked indignantly to the shop, which was luckily only about a five minute walk from Naomi's mums house. Gina had been out all day, the girls number one buffer. The woman who didn't take any of Naomi's bullshit, but wouldn't let Emily bully her daughter all in one go.

Naomi heard Emily shiver, she snuck a glance and let her eyes trail up her girlfriends body. She was only in full length leggings and one of Naomi's zip up vests. At least Naomi had on proper training pants, lined with cotton and a few more layers on top. She almost said something to Emily, then she caught the snobby, confident look on Emily's face and remembered the stake at hand: a good nights sleep.

The shop was surprisingly busy when they arrived. Naomi grabbed a cart and began following Emily as she set out into her aisle.

"Don't look at what I'm buying," Emily said.

"Then get your own cart," Naomi said back, rolling her eyes very dramatically.

Emily didn't even bother rolling hers. Her head was pounding too much. She'll be damned if she let Naomi win, but she was feeling like shit. She didn't even know why she was being such a brat, but watching Naomi shovel spoonfuls of soup in her mouth and wipe her nose with her sleeve had made her snap.

Who does she think she is eating when Emily could barely taste anything? Who does she think she is sighing loudly every time Emily dares to sniffle a little to make sure her nose doesn't faucet down her face in the fashion Naomi was letting her own run. Emily had dignity. She wasn't going to be disgusting just because she was sick.

Emily took off down one aisle and let Naomi float down the other. Emily grabbed some sausage, shrimp, and chicken broth, planning to imitate one of her mother's only edible soups. She didn't know how much she needed so she overestimated and found herself teetering down the aisle, her arms full of groceries.

She turned the corner sharply and ran smack into a cart. The items from her arms spilled into and all around the shopping cart. Her surprised eyes glanced up to find Naomi's, found them along with a snarky smirk to match.

"If I didn't know better, i'd say that you might have planned that on purpose," Naomi said. "Now get your things out of my cart, I'm almost done."

"We're paying together, can't we just use one cart?" Emily asked, crossing her arms. Pretending her head wasn't pounding, pretending her shins didn't hurt from running into the cart.

Pretending she didn't really want to play this game anymore.

"Fine," Naomi said, her eyes softening, but only slightly. She took off the down the aisle leaving Emily to quickly scramble the items off the floor and follow.

Naomi closed her eyes before Emily caught up with her. Her body was aching and after catching the ingredients Emily had haphazardly tossed into her cart, she was worried. She knew the soup Emily was planning on making, and if she could pull it off, it would certainly beat Naomi's lentil soup.

She was using a beat up, make-shift recipe her mum used to make her when she was sick. Planning to awe Emily's sick taste buds with magic, the way her mum's soup used to. The only problem was, she couldn't guarantee success, and she was feeling sicker by the minute.

Not that she would ever let Emily find out.

"Aah, the lentil soup I see," Emily mused, as she began chewing on her thumbnail, sniffing loudly.

"So?"

"So...if you're going to make that, you should remember to add noodles like your mum did that one time," Emily said, suddenly grabbing two boxes of noodles from the shelf and tossing them in the cart. A smug look planted on her face.

"I don't want noodles," Naomi said, picking up the boxes and putting them back on the shelf. Her eyes landed on something. "But your soup will definitely need these."

Naomi threw a box of dried chili's into the cart.

"Don't be daft," Emily said, walking away. Naomi shrugged and followed her with the cart.

"Your soup will have no kick, what's the point in that Ems, you want to taste it remember?" Naomi called out.

"Spicy doesn't make it better," Emily said over her shoulder, tossing some powdered laxative into the cart. "There, you'll be needing that right?"

Emily had said that quite loudly, earning the attention of everyone in the aisle. Naomi's face reddened. This was ridiculously childish, but she didn't care. Buttons were pushed, were stuck in fact.

"Oh, then we mustn't forget your Depends babe," Naomi said. She looked over sympathetically at the alarmed older woman to her left. "When she's sick she sneezes herself into accidents all day long. Genetics, the doctor says."

"Ah, that reminds me, we have to pick up your prescription as well," Emily called back with out missing a beat. She peered over at the same woman, giving her a kind smile. "She needs calming down."

"That I do," Naomi said, taking a different route. The woman's head whipped around to hers again. "I thought when I started dating Emily, she'd be able to constantly calm me down, tire me out if you catch my drift."

The older woman's bright brown eye's widened. Then a disapproving scowl took over her features.

"Disgraceful young women," she muttered. "Keep the bedroom arguments in the bedroom."

Naomi opened her mouth to respond, but shut it immediately. Guilt ran through her body. Emily and her were acting like disgraceful young women. Half-dressed, looking half-dead and throwing random shit into their shopping cart, arguing over problems that didn't exist.

"Lets check out," Emily said, looking a bit guilty herself.

They silently checked out and began their trek home. The zest of the contest was gone. Their arms hurt from carrying home all the ingredients.

Eventually they found themselves half-heartedly standing in front of opposite counters in the kitchen.

"Are you ready to lose?" Emily said, her voice not employing the tone it should have.

"I hope the couch is comfortable," Naomi said, spinning around a tomato on her cutting board, not feeling up to cutting it.

Silence fell around the kitchen. Naomi heard a noise and looked over her shoulder. She saw Emily leaning over onto the counter on her elbows, rubbing her eyes hard with her hands.

It was hard to admit, but deep down, Naomi knew Emily was slightly sicker than she was. 'Probably because she wasn't blowing out all the bad stuff out of her nose,' Naomi briefly thought, but tucked it away when her girlfriend nature rose up out of where it had been hiding.

Naomi sighed and set down her knife, walking over behind Emily. She heard Emily let out a small, almost miniscule sigh, sniffing in hard.

Naomi didn't cringe this time.

"Ems," Naomi said, hesitantly sliding her hands onto Emily's hips and squeezing.

"Yeah?" Emily asked, her voice hoarse.

"You can have the bed tonight," Naomi said. "You're right, my soup does suck."

"It doesn't suck," Emily said, keeping still. Naomi's thumbs began to rub on Emily's lower back, right over her kidneys. Felt Emily almost sigh in relief. "I might have been acting like a bit of a cow."

Naomi let out a small laugh, continuing her massage.

"That makes two of us," Naomi said.

Emily let out her elbows and laid flat out, bent over the counter. In any other situation, this would look inexplicably dirty, but Emily didn't care. Naomi's hands were ridding her of the ache that had taken over her lower back. They weren't fighting anymore. Her headache had lessened.

"I don't want you sleeping on the couch," Emily said, letting the tile of the counter cool her face.

"Okay," Naomi said, smiling a little to herself. "And I'm sorry, but I don't really feel like cooking."

It was Emily's turn to laugh.

"Good me either, wanna order in?"

"Sounds good," Naomi said.

Emily stood upright finally and spun around in Naomi's arms. She reached forward and slid her arms into the front pocket of Naomi's sweater. She sniffed loudly. Naomi cringed. Emily watched a small dribble of something begin it's escape from Naomi's nose. She cringed too, but found herself lifting up her own sleeve and wiping it away.

It must be love.

"That was nice," Naomi said jokingly.

"Not as nice as my soup would have been," Emily countered playfully, happy their fighting was over. They might fight hard, but they love harder. Quite convenient at moments like this.

"Oh well, you can always cook for me tomorrow night if you're feeling better," Naomi said.

"Yes I can," Emily mused. Emily's personal recipe book wasn't that vast. She could only cook a handful of things, but those she managed to cook successfully always turned out good. Naomi often ate herself into a subtle food coma, spent all evening complaining, and then spent the rest of evening later thanking Emily, one lazy stoke at a time. One thought entered her mind. "Martina's going to be disappointed..."


	12. Answers

**Predators And Prey Proudly Present **_**'Kitchen Stories'**_

_**10 stories, ten authors, ten different styles?**_

So, here we are, the answers to the challenge.

Author 1. Hyperfitched

Author 2. lizardwriter

Author 3. esdiferente

Author 4. whyyestitscar

Author 5. FitchSwitch

Author 6. Ladyhawk1709

Author 7. mickeydubs

Author 8. Lazyboo

Author 9. darthcaiter

Author 10. ImagineAlex

How well did you do?

Don't forget to let us know (-:

The Predators and Prey Team


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